


Uneasy Sleep

by Avianahelena



Series: Pieces of the Panic Room [2]
Category: Panic Room: House of Secrets
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 10:50:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avianahelena/pseuds/Avianahelena
Summary: Feather dreams.





	Uneasy Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, I'm not sure where or if this fits into my timeline as established in the Player Diary.

“Well, it’s not as though it’s going to blow ITSELF up, is it?” Jack asked.  
“You’re missing my point,” said Jim.  
“Point being ‘don’t’?” I clarified.  
“How else will we get through that door?” demanded Jack.  
“Have you tried the handle?” I asked. I stepped forward and turned the handle, which sliced cleanly, painlessly into my palm before turning to allow the latch to slip out of place. The door swung open, revealing a darkened hallway beyond. I turned to give the Fairwoods a smug look.  
“Well, you can’t use plastic explosives; I don’t even know where you’d find any in this house,” Jim was saying.  
“Something will turn up. It always does,” said Jack.  
‘Hello?’ I thought. ‘Door open. LOOK for once.’  
But they weren’t paying attention, so I slipped through the doorway alone, shutting the door quietly behind me.  
The hallway had turned to a plain: blank, grassy, grey.  
“Well,” murmured the Puppeteer. “What are you going to do now?”  
I shrugged, glancing at the shadowy form beside me. “Want to point me the way into town?”  
“I won’t let you get that far. You can’t cut your strings so easily.”  
“Just come with me,” I snapped irritably. Men never see the obvious solutions.  
I didn’t look to see that he followed me, but I knew he did. The Puppeteer is never far away.  
“Isn’t it nice to know you won’t die alone?” he asked, following my thoughts.  
“Yes,” I replied. I bent to pick up a diary from the ground. “Has Jim even read this?”  
“Yes,” answered the Puppeteer. “He’s put it all together.”  
“Then why does he talk like he hasn’t?” I asked.  
“To protect you.”  
“Why? It doesn’t hurt me to know that some kid I never met lost everything and went crazy.”  
“Yes it does.”  
“Does it make you feel better to believe that?”  
...  
“Feather,” the speakers repeated. I groaned. ‘Stop interrupting my conversations with you!’ “Feather, wake up.”  
“Why?” I mumbled.  
“There’s something interesting in the library, if you hurry.”  
“Why can’t you just tell me about it and let me go back to sleep?” I asked.  
“Don’t you want to see for yourself? Where’s that burning curiosity?” the Puppeteer goaded.  
“You’re so much easier to talk to when I’m asleep,” I grumbled.  
“You dream about me?” He sounded delighted and I immediately regretted mentioning it.  
“Do you even sleep?” I asked--a pitiful attempt at a redirect.  
“Not much,” he confessed. “There is always too much going on.”  
I sighed and sat up. “You should try to sleep more.” The words dragged themselves off a reluctant tongue, the compassion that birthed them battling my resentment to allow them egress.  
“Concern for your captor?” His tone had a familiar mocking edge, but I shook my head. If I tried to explain myself, I’d only wind up feeling foolish. How do you tell someone you hate to forgive himself? He wouldn’t understand my reasons anyway. The boy who understood failure is dead.


End file.
